


like a well-oiled machine

by nightcityheat (Kiraia)



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Deepthroating, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraia/pseuds/nightcityheat
Summary: So Kerry lays his hand on his thigh while V is driving, and it's less asking for permission than politely warning the merc about what is going to happen. V dares a glance towards him, meeting only a devious smirk and a nod towards the road ahead.“Of course,” mutters Johnny from the backseat, disappearing before V has the time to wonder if that's what he had meant when he said Kerry was a menace behind the wheel.
Relationships: Kerry Eurodyne/Male V
Comments: 13
Kudos: 96





	like a well-oiled machine

V's driving is decent. It gets him where he needs to be, no matter what Johnny's opinion on the matter may be. 

Sure, he was never that fond of driving, and for a long time simply didn't bother owning a car, 'cause, in all honesty, a fuming husk of moving metal seemed like it was more of a hassle than it was worth. Friends had cars, he had friends, thus his needs were usually met without a fuss.  
For anything else there was the metro, and V had learned its inner workings like the back of his hand. He had spent years of his life in its rumbling and its stench, in the crude lull of its people and the tepid embrace of its chrome. Time, convenience and use had made it home more even than the couches he used to crash at night. So, all things considered, V simply liked his habits and had his metro card. It certainly cost less than whatever his ex-input used to keep his Thornton running. 

Of course, as business caught up to him, Jackie was of a different opinion. So he gets the Hella, and, sure, V can drive. He can.  
Technically.  
And he doesn't mind being behind the wheel per se; cars are pretty fine machines in general. It's just all the shit that comes with handling one. Traffic, pedestrians, NCPD. Keeping the damn thing clean, getting rid of the scratches and bullet indentations. People's opinions about his driving.

In short, he still likes to take the metro more.

That is, until he meets Delamain.

\---

Delamain is neat. He doesn't know what it is exactly, but V likes him. Well, they like each other, somehow (which, in Johnny's opinion, mean's V seriously needs to get laid) but to V is just plain neat.  
The whole gig is surreal in parts, but, honestly, V likes to think he handled weirder and stranger jobs. For having survived the killer cars and the murder garage, having made Delamain whole —and wild— again, he thinks he did pretty ok.  
And, of course, cherry on top, he and Junior meet. 

V snorts when Johnny insinuates he has a thing for AIs. Johnny raises his hand and theatrically starts to count. 

"What was it, already, ah, yeah. The therapy S.C.S.M., the sassy gun and now the talking car? Still sounds like a sick fetish to me."

"Rich shit coming from the terrorist biochip eating at my brain."

"Almost forgot about that one."

\---

Installing Junior in the Caliburn isn't the easiest thing, but they manage. The hacking part is a breeze, but to make the Rayfield technically compatible with Junior's needs and abilities is a bit more complicated. V reassures the AI they wouldn't have been legally allowed to go into combat mode anyway, so, really, no big loss.  
He doesn't see the point in hanging out on the back of his own car either, doesn't need the interactive screens. He actually minds driving less now that he knows he can relinquish the wheel whenever he feels like.

A car minus the driving is neat. A gorgeous hypercar with automated driving is pure sin. V learns in time how much fun he can have with it. 

\---

It comes a bit out of the blue, somewhere between the Glen and Heywood, as V drives them back to the mansion. It doesn't take more than Kerry's hand on his thigh to get the message across.  
V and Kerry don't do casual touches, not the hand-holding, affectionate, mainline stuff. It’s not so much playing it casual as it is the shared awareness that the time to build those habits wasn't on their side. Theirs wasn’t a relationship where lingering was worth it, not when they hungered for so much, and the promise of grief was two steps away from pleasure.

So Kerry lays his hand on his thigh while V is driving, and it's less asking for permission than politely warning the merc about what is going to happen. V dares a glance towards him, meeting only a devious smirk and a nod towards the road ahead.  
“Of course,” mutters Johnny from the backseat, disappearing before V has the time to wonder if that's what he had meant when he said Kerry was a menace behind the wheel.

Kerry's hand travels higher and V feels the brush between leather and skin like sparks of electricity, a tease of shivers and goosebumps. It feels as if time is stretching, instants that turn into hours, as V tries to put all his available focus on the road, suddenly hyperware of every car, of every passerby. The windshield isn’t so darkened that anyone close enough wouldn’t recognize Kerry Eurodyne in the passenger seat, as busy as he seems to be distracting his driver.  
It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is.

His cock jolts under Kerry's palm, his heartbeat a wave that shores itself against the familiar weight on his crotch, the relief and frustration a sweet compendium that almost deafens V. He doesn't notice he has closed his eyes until Kerry's voice breaks through to him—rough, gleeful mischief reminding him to keep his attention on the road. V would tell him to fuck himself but, honestly, he is at the point where Kerry could be telling him whatever he wanted with his sexy voice of his and V would thank him for it.

Kerry’s thumb massages the length of his zipper, up and down, and the rhythm is something for V to focus on, enough that he manages not to burn the stop in front of him, hands tightening around the leather of the wheel. His eyes scour the road, the buzzing of passersby walking right in front of the Caliburn not enough to lull him away from the pleasure-eager warmth in his veins. He reaches for Kerry’s nape, his fingers brushing his short hair until he has enough leverage to pull, and Kerry meets him halfway, a moan and a growl losing themselves in a crash of lips. It’s encouragement enough for the rockerboy, sucking on V's tongue as he pops the button of his pants open, freeing V's stiffening cock in a lazy, heavy bounce. 

“Commando, mh?” chuckles Kerry against his wet lips, delight and chaos turned into sinful purring.

“Johnny’s been a bad influence,” breathes V, his teeth capturing Kerry’s lower lip in an urgent bite. “Says underwear gets in the way."

Kerry makes a sound between a chuckle and a moan, and it's so hot—wet and filthy, thick with saliva and arousal—, that V has to reward it, the grip in his hair growing tighter, pulling Kerry back just enough that V can see him properly, can see the golden light on his neck glint neon green and—

The truck behind honks loudly. V flips his shit so hard he has to actively stop his synaptic accelerator from activating.  
Johnny doesn't show to laugh his ass off, but, somehow, the fact that V can imagine it to perfection almost makes it worse. 

Kerry seems barely inconvenienced, at the very least, groaning something against V's shoulder, and V takes it as his clue to get the engine roaring again. 

"Didn't hear that, Ker."

The rockerboy politely waits until the Caliburn has moved forward some two hundred feet before his hand wraps comfortably around V's length again, giving a first, testing stroke as V softly curses under his breath. 

"I said…." and the roll of his hand is pure sin, the grip of his fingers on his base, what Kerry does with his thumb against his slit. "'…turns me on when you light up those Kiroshis of yours."

"Not afraid I'm gonna make us crash?" dares V, voice hitched with shameless pleasure, legs shifting to allow Kerry more space to work. They are barely entering North Oak territory now, an ascent of curves V has enough trouble driving by when he isn't getting a handjob behind the wheel.

Kerry answers by leaning down and spitting on V's cock, his fist reaping the wetness and spreading it in a couple of firm, tantalizing strokes. " 'm sure you can manage, bad boy."

V's nails dig into the leather of the wheel with enough strength he's sure Junior will whine about it later. His eyes don't really register the road ahead anymore: his instincts avoid obstacles like on a BD, the engine purrs in his ears as a third party to their fun.

"Ker, you do that again," his voice echoes in his own ears, almost alien, dry and burning and sweet, all lust and gasoline. "And I'm fucking your throat until you can't fucking speak anymore." 

Kerry makes a sound, his fist tightening around V's hot cock for a moment as his other hand palms his own straining bulge. He's all confidence and hunger as his thumb rolls over V's cock-head in pure, devilish teasing. "Promise?"

V smirks, adrenaline thick and smooth in his system. "Come and find out."

He's not sure who moves first. Kerry's hand flies to unbuckle his seat belt as V activates Junior's automated driving with a blink of his cyberdeck. Kerry's mouth is heavy and rough and hot on his, his weight a burning comfort as he finds his place on V's lap. Their fingers catch in each other as they reach blindly for V's seat slider. The merc gives up first, his hands hungry for Kerry's skin, his warmth, and they snake under his shirt instead, pulling him closer until they are flush, leather against leather, the rub of Kerry's jeans against his cock delicious and mean.  
His teeth leave a trail of biting kisses down the golden lines of Kerry's neck, tongue and lips sucking marks where the chrome relinquishes its place to soft, bare skin. He frees Kerry's dick from his pants, shivering at the feeling of how hard his input is already. He can feel Kerry's satisfied laugh right in his ear, dark and sweet, and then his seat gives up and slides back.

He misses Kerry's stubble against his throat as soon as it's gone, but the sight of him sliding between his knees abundantly makes up for it. In front of him there's the road disappearing under the Caliburn's wheels, and the sight sends shivers and electricity down his spine until Kerry takes him in his mouth and V's attention gets entirely sidetracked.

The rockerboy catches his head into his lips, sucking and twirling his tongue around it like a candy. He makes a show of it, moaning, lips plump and stretched around a smirk, looking V in the eyes as he spreads his knees. His fist around his own cock proof of how much he gets off blowing V.  
Kerry gives head like a pro, it's almost a shame V promised to use him as little more than a jig-jig glory hole. 

"You're so hot, Ker." His thumb follows the curve of his lip, wet where mouth meets cock. "C'mon, spit…make it easier for you, baby."

Kerry chuckles, a breathy, shivery sound that V feels down to his bones. The rockerboy looks drunk, high on cock and euphoria, hair disheveled where V has been playing with it.  
He looks like a fucking god. 

V's hand finds Kerry's nape again and Kerry arches into it until the merc dutifully tightens his hold on him, pulls until Kerry hisses and moans. V helps him get where he needs to, coaxes his face over the oozing heat of his hard cock, and Kerry opens his mouth, lets his tongue loll over the tip until thick, lazy dollops of saliva drip and fall like sluts' ambrosia. Butter and grease, so dirty and sweet V's cock jerks and leaks in response. 

Kerry goes down on him inch by inch, cock sliding down the flat of his tongue and the warm wetness of his mouth. V sees it disappear in breathy sucks, nudges and shifts, until he can feel the vibration of the rockerboy's chromed throat pulsing and adapting to the stretch, the buzz of machine surrendering to the width of the intrusion without the bother of a gag reflex.  
Kerry's stretched lips curve in a smirk, and he hums, satisfasfied like a cat with milk. The sensation travels directly to V's brain, his hips rolling forward on their own as the merc moans and shivers, his nails digging into Kerry's scalp as he's hit by waves and waves of pleasure.

"F-fuck Ker…" he feels the rockerboy going lax and pliant around him, shifting in place until he's comfortable around the girth pushing down his throat. He sucks sloppily around the merc's cock, eyes glinting as they meet with V's, a tease and a dare all rolled up into blue sin. "Yeah… fucking gorgeous."

V promised, and it's a pleasure to deliver, his cock making place into the addicting heat of Kerry again and again, comfortably gaining up speed until the rocker boy makes those fucking sweet sounds of his. Kerry's fingers roll into the merc's belt loops, pulling himself even closer before V's hand in his hair reminds him to keep still. 

"Hush, Ker." His voice feels wet and rough with how close he is, his hips rolling lazily in and out doozy, hot pleasure. Kerry strokes himself, or fists his hand, more likely, all of his coordination dedicated to the length of hard flesh in his mouth. "My turn behind the wheel."

The rolling of wheels on the asphalt echoes in purrs in the whole car, from under his soles to where the tip of his cock hits warm, enhanced flesh. V feels it travels down his spine, feels it echo with his own moans, with Kerry's wet, involuntary slurping and the squelching of saliva and precum. He feels it between his gritted teeth and down to where his nails dig into Kerry's skin, until it turns into thunder and lightning and pleasure exploding into neon green and white light. 

"Destination reached, sir," chimes Junior, like the overeager puppy he is. Kerry's wet, breathy snort is almost hidden by the clang of the gate closing behind them, and V's smile gets kissed by salt-musky lips, rough and demanding. 

They get out of the car, chasing each other's lips in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, the sunset painting everything in violets and orange. V bends Kerry on the hood of Caliburn, the metal still hot enough to sting, but Kerry doesn't complain one second, too busy helping the merc pull down his pants. There are no more than twenty feet between them and the very public road at the other side of the gate. Nothing to stop anyone driving by from seeing Kerry's Eurodyne's new input spreading the rockerboy's asscheeks and licking his way inside him.  
V makes a point to make Kerry orgasm so hard the entire neighbourhood knows about it.

Kerry's come paints white, gluey stripes over the Caliburn's black, perfect paint job. V bends down to kiss the sweat from his neck, laying soft, cooling kisses where Kerry's chrome is still warm from exertion. The rocker tilts his chin for more like a lazy, satisfied cat. 

"Next time you come all over my car like that," the merc mumbles softly between bites and adoring kisses, "I’ll make you lick it clean while I fuck you."

He can feel Kerry's smirk without seeing it, can feel it against his fingers as the rockerboy holds his hand to kiss it—affection that they drown in each other's pleasure, thick and sweet. Something that, while the metal is still hot, they can pretend is just sex, and not love, pouring out of the chrome in their skin like oil and steam.

"Promise?"

**Author's Note:**

> i have to thank everyone at the Lizzie's server for the support and the beta-ing, y'all too sweet.  
> -  
> find me at nightcityheat.tumblr.com


End file.
